With Fire and Blood
by AlliTheWriter
Summary: Daenerys Stormborn knows what she wants, she knows what should be hers, and with fire and blood, she will take it all. No matter the cost. Or, a retelling of the story of the Mother of Dragons, if she had been born a little darker, a little madder, than what we are shown in the show. After all, if she is to be the Mad Queen, then she will damn well earn the title. Darth Dany AU.
1. The Conqueror's Birth

284 AC

One night, a tempest raged above Dragonstone.

Ships were blown off course, fleets were destroyed, seas crashed against stone walls, and lightning littered the sky. Still, the screams of a woman giving birth were heard within the castle, which sent chills down their spines.

The servants whispered sympathies. _"The Queen is weak," _they said, _"and her pregnancy harsh. Neither she nor her child will live."_

Yet, Queen Rhaella lived long enough to birth a third child, a daughter, the Princess of Dragonstone and the heir to her brother, the recently crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

_"Stormborn," _she whispered on her deathbed, _"she will be called Daenerys Stormborn."_

(And on that day, history was made for a conqueror was born.)

* * *

AN:

This plot bunny wouldn't leave me.

Read on if you would like to read about Darth Dany and her journey to Mad Queenship done _right _(at least i hope so).

xx,

Alli


	2. The Conqueror's Early Years

Daenerys hangs onto her brother's words.

_"The Usurper has my throne."_

_"To come back home, we must have an army at our backs."_

_"I am the King. The Iron Throne is mine by right."_

_"The Lords of Westeros are all traitors. The Starks, Lannisters, Arryns, Tullys, and Baratheons should burn for their crimes against our House."_

_"They killed our father, the King. They killed our eldest brother, their Crown Prince."_

_"Never forgive, never forget."_

_"We are the blood of Old Valyria. We are the blood of the dragon. We are what remains of House Targaryen."_

_"With Fire and Blood, I will take back what is mine."_

Daenerys listens and she learns.

* * *

Daenerys grows up surrounded by allies.

(Allies, that die like _flies_.)

She is young, but she understands more than she lets on.

She has a lemon tree growing beneath her window, but knows that she should have orchards full of them.

She has a roof over her head, but knows that she should be in a castle.

She has servants to call upon, but knows that she should have more.

She has Sir Willem Darry, but knows that she should have an army. An army that should be defending her and her brother from the Usurper's assassins – whom she knows should not be after them. After all, they are the blood of the dragon. The blood of kings and queens run through their veins, yet they are far from their home and her brother's rightful throne. They are the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, yet they are hunted down like dogs.

What _should be_, is not what _is._

What _should be_ does not stop the assassins from coming after them.

What _should be _does not protect them.

She knows this, and she is filled with hate and a fire that threatens to consume her.

* * *

Daenerys is nearly killed one day.

Sir Willem manages to fend off the assassin and kill him, but receives a blow behind his right knee.

While the old knight tends to his wounds and Viserys rants about the injustice of it all, Daenerys only has eyes for her would-be killer.

She looks him in the eye and does not move away when his blood reaches her sandaled feet. She is young, but she understands the necessity of the act. This man deserved to die – he attempted to kill a princess. He attempted to kill a dragon, one of the last ones, no less!

_He died, so that she may live, and was her life not worth more than his?_

She turns a critical eye over his body and learns from what she's seen. She takes note of where exactly he had been struck by Sir Willem, and categorizes each location based on how quickly it would lead to the death of the attacker if run through with a blade.

She contemplates this, as she bends down to collect the assassin's dagger from his belt.

_I would have to know such things, _she muses, turning to observe the movements of her loyal protector, _for he will surely die soon._

* * *

Daenerys is not shocked when the old knight dies.

He was old when he brought them to safety in Braavos, and aged even quicker after all these years.

It came as no surprise to her that he died – in truth, she was more surprised at the fact that he had lasted this long in their service – but she still found herself displeased despite being prepared. He was her protector, more _her's _than _Viserys_', which she knew because he showed more kindness to her than he did to her brother. He was old, therefore not always efficient, and he was not much help to her brother in finding more allies and gaining more money, but he had his use. Now that he was dead, he was useless. _Worse_, his death was useless. His death brought them nothing but more hardship.

Even worse, she fears that their servants will leave, and no doubt take what little her and Viserys have left.

She prepares for this by hiding away their money, little by little each day so as to not provoke inquiries. She also keeps her mother's crown in a pillowcase on her bed, as well as some jewels they still kept and a scarf made of silk gifted to her by an Essosi sympathizer.

She curses the day her fears proved true, but thanks her intuition and forethought because if not for her, then the servants could have stolen more from then. And if they had, then Viserys would have nothing left to pay for their quarters with.

(Viserys is livid that day, but manages to crack a smile for his sister, who had saved him from further trouble.)

* * *

Daenerys tries not to cry when they are put out of their home.

The house with the red door and the lemon tree is the only home she knows, yet neither she nor her brother managed to raise enough money to keep it on their own. The small wealth she kept safe only managed to lengthen their stay for a few more moons, but as Viserys said, if they wished to eat at least one meal per day, then they would have to find much cheaper quarters to live in.

They leave those red doors behind with nothing but the clothes on their backs and her pillowcase, whose load lightens each day, with heavy hearts and a festering hatred in their souls.

Hatred, and something else. Something _mad._

* * *

Daenerys hates the Free Cities.

She hates the merchants princes and the archons who welcome them into their homes, only to turn them away moons later.

She hates the hope they instill in her, only to take it away with plastered sympathetic smiles and false apologies.

She hates the sellsword companies who refuse her brother.

She also sometimes hates Viserys, who squander what little treasures they have left to fund feasts in the hopes of acquiring new allies, but inevitably failing to do so.

But most of all, she hates the Usurper, for he is the root to all her problems.

She whispers the names _Baratheon, Stark, Lannister, Arryn, and Tully _in her bed like a prayer and dreams of bathing each Lord Paramount in dragon fire.

_Never forgive, never forget._

* * *

Daenerys is laughing for the first time in days and thinks that _life is not always bad._

She and her brother are in Myr and have managed to convince a young high born that theirs is a worthy cause.

They had been fed, washed, and clothed. Guards had been assigned to them and slaves sent to their rooms.

They spent the day strolling through some markets, observing the wares, as he carried her on his back as he often did when they were younger. It was easy to forget that they were more than just two children, that they were not just simple siblings enjoying a day under the sun.

Later at night, they shared a bed and he read to her a book about the ancient history of Old Valyria. Speaking softly to her in their native tongue, she was lulled to sleep and thanked the many Gods that existed that she at least had her brother, for being a lone Targaryen in the world would be a terrible thing indeed.

* * *

Daenerys hears whispers of her brother's new title, _Beggar King._

It is not far from the truth. He does, after all, go from manse to manse, from Free City to Free City, begging for aid and monetary support to reclaim his crown.

Despite its accuracy, she fumes at the mockery the common folk and high born alike make of her brother. _They are the blood of the dragon and deserve more respect!_

She reminds herself that what _should be_ is often far from what _is, _and hate fills her once more.

Quietly, she promises to herself that she would grow powerful one day so that she may take what is owed to her. One day, she and her brother would no longer beg. One day, she and her brother would no longer go hungry. One day, she and her brother would have everything they want and more.

* * *

Daenerys breaks a little bit more today as she watches her brother exchange their mother's crown for gold.

He has had no success in acquiring support in many moons and all their treasures and coin were already gone by this point. The only valuable thing they had left was that crown, and selling it cemented the fact that she and her brother were desperate.

They had lived as street urchins for months now, and barely had anything to eat or drink with each passing day. They were tired of sleeping on cold pavements. They were tired of stale bread, cold broth, and dirty water. They needed more, and the only thing that could buy that was that crown.

The moment their mother's crown left Viserys' hand, all joy left within him burned away.

* * *

Daenerys witnesses her brother's descent into madness firsthand.

His ravings started to become nonsensical and he often talked to himself. He grew even more arrogant despite having less than what he started with, which frequently grated on others' nerves. Further, he's become even more violent and quick to anger.

Often, he took his frustrations out on her and shrieked about her waking the dragon.

She sees the truth in his words, _sometimes, _but knows that she is just as much a dragon as he. Raising a hand against her makes him just as deserving of punishment as anyone else – but she reserves such plots for the future.

For now, she will bide her time and wait for her opportunity to strike back.

_Never forgive, never forget._

* * *

Daenerys kills her first man in an inn at the age of 12.

Despite being on the run from assassins all her life, the past couple of years have been relatively peaceful.

Her brother likes to gloat and claim that this is because he managed to constantly outsmart the Usurper, but she knows better.

After word got around that her brother was no longer a worthy investment, their lives on the street became even harsher. They had spent enough nights starving and freezing that sending assassins after them would have seemed redundant and a waste of money. After all, if things had happened a little differently, then they would have died eventually, whether by starvation or disease.

But now that they had survived this long without support from wealthy backers, she supposes that trying to end them now before they became a problem again made sense.

Her brother and her had been enjoying a peaceful dinner in the inn. Well, she had been. Viserys was flirting obnoxiously with the barmaid and tried to impress her with riches he most certainly did not have.

It is because of his distraction that he did not notice the man who carried with him their tray of food to their table. He also did not notice the steel that glinted in the room for a brief moment as he made to grab it. She did notice though, and moved quicker than he did.

Without thinking, she held onto the dagger she kept with her all these years and buried it in his gut.

Hearing his cry of pain, her brother turned and gasped in shock while the barmaid screamed. Undeterred, Daenerys stood up from her chair and pulled the dagger free before the would-be assassin could do much else. With a cry, she fell upon him like an angel of death and brought down her small blade again and again. It was made from cheap steal which had dulled over the years, but it was clearly sharp enough to pierce through skin. _Again and again._

By the time she grew weary and stopped attacking, her hands and clothes were bloody and the man was a gory mess on the wooden floor.

A hand lands on her shoulder and she tenses. "Done?"

She turns to her brother and nods stiffly.

She returns to her seat, her dagger safely tucked into her boot, but not before claiming the unnamed man's purse and passing it to her brother.

She and Viserys eat the food quickly, knowing that they must leave soon before more people arrive. The few bystanders in the room have not quite recovered from the shock of the scene even after the two siblings hastily leave their empty bowls of broth and escape into the night.

They never speak of what she did.

(Viserys, having recognized the bloodlust in his little sister's eyes, decides that she _is_ useful after all, beyond that of a wife, and respects her a bit more for it.)

(He never hits her again. Not for many years, at least.)

* * *

Daenerys and her brother manage to sneak into Pentos after receiving word from a messenger that an ally awaits them there.

Soon, they meet a magister named Illyrio and he is the fattest man Daenerys has ever seen.

They live in his manse for many moons, after being promised safety and support for Viserys' bid for the Iron Throne.

She is young, but she has learned quite a fair amount in her short life, and knows that their current situation is far too good to be true.

When her brother announces to her that she is to wed Khal Drogo, a Dothraki savage, in exchange for an army, while smiling from ear to ear, she is not that surprised.


End file.
